“Let go,” he said. “My God commands it.”
“Let go,” he said. “My God commands it.”
The brownish-black smoke fell back, curling around his thighs in filthy banners.
“I can let you live,” a voice said. It was no wonder, Johnny thought, that Tak was caught on the other side of the funnel. The hole to which it narrowed was stringent, no more than an inch across. Red light pulsed in it like a wink. “I can heal you, make you well, let you live.”
“Yeah, but can you win me a goddam Nobel Prize for Literature?”
